


Happy Like This

by arrowbrowsing



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fix-it fic, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confession, M/M, Post Season Four
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 10:12:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10762140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrowbrowsing/pseuds/arrowbrowsing
Summary: John was shot. He was dying. Course, he didn't experience it. He experienced what he came to know as "The Final Problem." Then he wakes up, Sherlock distraught by his side. Naturally, after a near death experience, only love confessions may ensue.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, trf was shit. And the show just kind of died after that. But it was so god pre-season four that I just had to fix it, to be "at peace" with myself. So here's my version of the last episode which I expect to get no recognition for whatsoever. Nonetheless, enjoy.

John. John. For the love of Go-  
"D JOHN!" Someone was shaking him, and the aura of panic in the air was immediately felt. John attempted to move, but felt an intense shock of pain throughout his entire body. He groaned and clenched his eyes shut, feeling them gaining moisture. His movements were thusly reacted to, and Sherlock, who John recognized from the voice minus the panic, tensed immediately. He had been hearing his voice for a long time now- but it was just noise until a few moments ago, what was he saying? John saw Sherlock wiping his face roughly with his palm out if the corner of his eye- and realized he himself was still audibly in pain. "You're going to be f-" Black. 221b. Mycroft, a drone, an island. Trapped, with no way out, feeling sick. Uncharacteristic lightness.  
He felt thin fingers running across his forhead. His hair was pushed back, but for the life of him, he couldn't open his damn eyes to see who's hand it was. Sleep welcomed him again then.  
He woke with a start. He felt the same pain he felt before, but being awake made it feel more intense. He looked around for a morphine tab, which, apropriately reminded of Sherlock.  
He saved him. Or, he was there at least. And in an awful state. Was that Sherlock? It had to be, he remembered his form, his voice, but he didn't act like Sherlock Holmes. He was most likely dying in that moment, but that wouldn't affect Sherlock, would it? Who was he lying to, of course it would. He wasn't a sociopath. He accepted the title of best friend, he'd shown his humanity many times before. John couldn't put that on him any longer. There was a knock at the door.  
It was just who he feared, or rather, anticipated. He came in silently, sitting down on the chair beside the bed.  
"H-hi," he stammered, to John's extreme surprise. "How are you?" John was unsure of how to respond. Though he was the one in the bed, he only wanted to offer condolences to the man in the chair.  
"Good." John attempted to put little breath into the word. It had little affect on Sherlock's sagging face. "I really am, or, at least I'm getting there," John said without thinking, subconsiously trying to repair Sherlock's physique.  
"You were hurt, John. I never wanted you to be the one hooked up to the morphine. I thought- I-" He looked down, contemplating whether or not to finish the sentence. John wouldn't give him the choice.  
"You thought what," John said, rather than asked, with emphasis. Sherlock lifted his head, his face obviously twisted with despair.  
"I thought I would always be there to protect you."  
John knew how he should have felt. Well- no- he didn't. What was there to feel, but what he obviously wasn't supposed to? John frowned. He hated that they both felt so weak now, that they both had to see eachother like this.  
"I'll survive."  
"That's not enough." His response was quick. "I need you to live. I need you to be happy, with Rosie, in your flat. With Mary."  
"Why," John wheezed. "Why do you need that?"  
Sherlock laughed, though it was an empty laugh. One on the verge of tears. "Don't you see? It's always you. John Watson, you keep me right."  
John moved his mouth to one side. "Your wedding speech. What're you quoting it for?"  
"John I-" his voice began to break. "I nearly lost you today and it was- so, so real. I've been a wreck and I don't know how to do right by you for everything I've ever done." He stared unblinkingly at the ceiling.  
"You know what you can do? You can shut up about all of this. All of it. Everything I do is my choice, everything Mary did was hers, and you have no bloody say in that-" John shut his eyes forcefully, attempting to stop himself while he was ahead. He took a few long breaths before beckoning Sherlock to come closer, to which Sherlock obliged. "I'm alive, and we can see eachother for one more day. Isn't that something?"  
Sherlock looked as if he was going to say something, but never did. He crouched down, and buried his face in the sheets under John's armpit. "Easy now," John whispered. He rose his voice. "Is that even permitted?"  
"Mm," was all Sherlock said in response. John smiled. His hand rested on his back, and he could feel his every breath. He longed to feel his heartbeat, to feel its unsteadiness. He wanted to look him in the eyes and reassure him that he was fine, they were okay. He wished to himself for a moment that this would occur outside of these circumstances, before realizing that was a very unlikely scenario. He wanted to tell Sherlock he was happy to know how he cared. How much. His dark curls so near his face. John could have fallen asleep like this. He would've, if not for Sherlock's next sentence.  
"I love you."  
\--  
He said it again, eyes anxiously fixated on the screen. Molly Hooper raised the phone up to her mouth, and whispered the words, her mouth over-salivated, the three words stuck together. John tried to stay neutral, but his mind was a flurry of emotions. He knew the words didn't come easy, but they happened. They existed now.  
Sherlock Holmes had uttered the words "I love you." He closed his eyes, but the darkness that greeted him didn't part. Then, there was a gun, a prick in the back of the neck, and water. Being stuck in the cold, cold, water, that ever rising water, as he saw everything slowly slip away. And then, a way out.  
He woke up. In 221b. In his bed. He tried to make sense of everything, but there was just too much to make sense of. He remembered some things, but then again he had been asleep for some time, so how was he to gage what was real? He raised his hand to his head, and noted that though it was somewhat painful to do, it wasn't significantly painful as before. Before? So he was shot. That much was real. He retracted his arm and groaned. Within seconds, Sherlock's head peered in around the corner, responding to the noise. "John?" He asked, concerned, in a voice not too loud.  
"Yeah," John breathed and Sherlock walked into the room."I'm fine. But a bit... confused. Mind clueing me in?"  
Sherlock gave a complying look. "You were shot, you were in hospital for a few weeks, slipping in and out of consciousness. I was able to speak to you one of those times, and you said that after all of this was over that you wanted to come back." Sherlock simply delivered the information.  
"Back to 221b," John reaffirmed. Sherlock nodded. "Rosie's been here for that time as well."  
"Funny, I can't really remember this conversation," John looked up at Sherlock. "I do remember us talking but not me agreeing to come back..."  
"What do you remember, then." Sherlock's face was almost cold when he asked, no, stated this.  
"Uhh," John laughed awkwardly. "You. You came into my room. You tried to keep composure but you- fell apart, really. I remember you going under my arm and burrying your face in my sheets. B-but I don't know- that might've never happened. I've been remembering all sorts of things that never happened-"  
"What things?" Sherlock interrupted. He stood towering over him.  
"Lots of really stupid things, Sherlock," John sighed. "I hardly want to explain anything because if it never happened, if it wasn't real, than that reveals a lot about my mind, doesn't it?"  
"Then think about as a cognitive test," His face was peaked up, and he sat on the bed, slowly inching closer.John noted the bags, the desperation, the paleness. "It'll tell you me if your memory is working."  
"Alright but-" John began distractedly, staring at Sherlock. He paused. "Sherlock, have you been using?"  
Sherlock sat back. "No," he said, staring at the patterned sheets.  
"Sherlock, tell me honestly, have you taken drugs while I was out?" John continued earnestly.  
"No, John, and I'd rather you stop asking a question you know the answer to."  
"You always start using when I'm not there for you, my marriage, my pushing you away-"  
"For cases, John-"  
"That's bullshit. You know it is."  
"Do I? John, I'm welcome to your concern but I. Am. Not. Using. If you must know, I found something else to do while I waiting all those weeks."  
"And would that be?" John asked sternly, trying to hide his concern for the details of Sherlock's preoccupation.  
"Watching you. Recover, to specify. I'm not asking for thanks, but I assuredly do not want to be mistaken for a consistent drug user during your recovery."  
John found this response as rather.. soft. It wasn't expected, but his apperance at his bedside wasn't either.  
"Right," John nodded. "Just one more question then." Sherlock raised his head. "What did you really, truly say at my bed, at the hospital?"  
Sherlock was silent for a moment. "John, I said what you heard."  
"No, there was more. You keep asking for clarification."  
Utter silence from Sherlock. He was right. He couldn't help but smile inwardly at that.  
"John, I can attempt to say it, but to utter the actual words- I can only do it so many times."  
John didn't hesitate, but he felt his heart jump."For me Sherlock, do it once more for me."  
Sherlock had already been preparing, and John knew all he needed was his final push. He took a breath, and strained to turn to look at John.  
"There's something... something I've always meant to say and I never had..." Sherlock's hand began twitch, but he kept his face steady. "Since it's unlikely I'll-"  
John cut him off with a laugh. "Really? Seriously? Your little.. spiel from the tarmac?" The laughter was somewhat nervous, it's fuel being John's anticipation.  
Sherlock's eyes lightened, and he looked at John directly now. "The Tarmac. Our little talk about the woman. The same 'spiel.' Angelo's." John's heart was steadily dropping, and its rate increasing. "The start, my deductions, your little notes- John- Hamish Wa-Watson, I-"  
John couldn't bear it. He felt his heart leap and he grabbed Sherlock. It couldn't really be compared to a hug, but there wasn't anything else to describe it. How do you compliment desperate grabbing by two men, as they encompass eachother in themselves? Followed by...  
Complete silence.  
\--  
John sat at the table, sipping a rushed cuppa. Thinking. It was selfish, and not even fair to himself to cut Sherlock off like that. He wanted to hear what Sherlock had to say, regardless of the fact that he knew what he had to say. He smiled in his cup. He knew. But now, now he had to respond. Sherlock was waiting, literally only a few paces from him, sipping a similarly rushed cuppa. Little was uttered after the embrace, meaning the silence was only growing, looming over the two of them. And it was John's turn to move. He set his cup down and stood up, possibly alerting Sherlock, though he couldn't see. He approached Sherlock, though he kept eyes to the floor. "Uhh," he started. "So." He paused. "Dinner?" He looked up, his eyebrows raised.  
Sherlock looked up from his cup, then sipped again. "Mm."  
John rolled his eyes. "That a yes?"  
Sherlock nodded slightly.  
"I'll order then, since it's late."  
Sherlock "mm"-ed again. Was this really all going to be John? He'd be lying if he said he didn't want more of a response, but he knew he wasn't being fair, at least, in Sherlock's terms. He talked so now he would talk. John just hoped he'd be able to keep his lid on.  
\--  
John was silent. Sherlock was silent. John was evidently not eating much, for many reasons, but one was likely because of the noise it caused. It was that "sacred." Sherlock propped his chin up on both of his fists, attempting to catch John's eye, which only made John avoid his eyes more. He knew it was illogical to be annoyed by the waiting, so he focused both of his brains' sides on John's being. He would wait however long was needed, after all, he had waited for weeks- well, no, literal years- so what could minutes even be in comparison? Time was a vital part of the process, after all. John was- stop. Stop thinking about it logically. This is emotional- this is your emotion. Feel it. Feel everything that happens from the moment you said those three words to him on the hospital bed. Feel everything before that, and every second after-  
John coughed. "I think that's enough." Sherlock felt it. The adrenaline. He clenched every muscle in an effort to stop shaking. "I- uhh- oh, God," John laughed painfully. "It's just-all of it- all of this." He clenched his eyes. He dragged his hand across his forehead. He breathed. "You. You lo- all along, hmm? All along?" Sherlock nodded slowly. John laughed and licked his lips. "So. Everything. Every decision. You were there. Seven years. You didn't tell me anything. Not a word." John sniffed harshly.  
"I always wanted to say something. I always wanted to let you know why I was so dedicated. But- you already knew. Didn't you. Of course. Was that all this was Sherlock- no- don't answer that. I..."  
Sherlock wanted to say something, to prove himself, but he would do what John wanted, and right now that was nothing.  
"I loved you. And I still do. No matter what you did, no matter how tedious it got, I always did. But you watched me grieve over you. Watched me get married- married to your replacement. I got married! All because I needed love, Sherlock. And you know what, it wasn't enough. She turned out to be an assassin, and this all comes to light after she's pregnant. Rosie's downstairs, motherless, a product of something that never really was love, because of you." John spat his last line. "I don't care how difficult, you could have talked. Because I'm not like you. I never knew. I stayed, hoping, pleading that it would come to light, and I was just tugged along."  
John leaned back, taking short breathes, than slow ones.  
Sorry, John. "I-I thought I knew. Where you stood. Where you were. But I could never fully trust myself because I felt my emotions had been clouding my judgement. And John- you were so, so-" Sherlock found this a rare instance where he struggled with words. "I loved you from the start. You know that now. But I was scared. Scared the first time. At Angelo's. I came up with an excuse because I didn't know what to do. But- I didn't know love- I didn't know what to do with how I felt so I-"  
John was really struggling with his composure now. "I wished I did it differently. For weeks and weeks and weeks I thought about how I could have done things differently or-" Sherlock brought his sleeve up to his nose to stifle a cry. "I'm- I'm so sorry John. I'm so sorry. All the hurt I caused you. I wish I could have done it before but I always rationalized it to be a bad idea." Sherlock's voice was breaking now. "I only did it on the hospital bed because I knew you were fading away, that I might never get the chance to tell you. So I did, right before you flatlined. If it wasn't for that, we'd still be in silence."  
"You're a damn idiot." Sherlock looked up. "But I'm not much to talk. I wanted to move on. Every day was torture. You were my consistent thought for every one of those seven years. I want to continue now." A tear leaked from his eye, but he did nothing about it. "Where do we go from here, Sherlock? We can't pretend anymore."  
Sherlock stood from his chair, and walked over to John. John stood up, both eyes leaking. "Where do we go?" Sherlock asked.  
John looked up Sherlock with big, soggy eyes. He reached up his hand to feel Sherlock's cheek and leaned forward. "Here." John kissed Sherlock softly, and continued to keep his hand placed at his cheek. He felt as Sherlock's cheeks were soon wet with tears as well, and they both stood there, discontent as much as they were content. The two men of 221b baker street.  
\--


	2. First Intimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've spoken. Now they know. So, what happens now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got one very supportive comment that said more was wanted, so more was provided. Here it is. Uhh, yeah.

"Sherlock..." the voice was barely a whisper.   
A sniff, and then a shutter of breaths. "Yes?"  
"Can I- Can I kiss you again?"  
"Wait for me to clean up my face at the very least."  
John laughed and hesitatingly pulled Sherlock closer. It was so awkward, but God, it was heaven. Sherlock was shaking, letting a whimper out now and again. John pressed his lips against Sherlock's neck and closed his eyes. They had been in a similar situation before, and John was so very grateful for the smallest bit of intimacy. He had learned to hate it, but now he didn't have to. He unthinkingly began to lower himself, pulling his lips closer to Sherlock's chest. There was a sharp intake from Sherlock, but he pulled back slightly. John stepped back as well.  
"I'm sorry- I-I don't want it like that- I mean, I want it but- I don't-" John tried to make sense of his own thoughts.  
"John- I'm- I-" Sherlock stuttered. John could see Sherlock's face clearly now. He really was in quite the state. "You- you're fine, just- not now."  
"No, Sherlock, I completely understand, I got too ahead of myself, my fault, one-hundred percent."  
Sherlock gave a half-smile. "God, look at me," he said, his voice less shaky.   
John returned the expression. "You're fine. Better than that, in fact."  
They laughed quietly for a moments, followed by a few moments of silence.  
"Well, you should probably get some rest, considering the high stress of that situation," Sherlock said in a nearly-regular voice. Oh. The separation.   
"Right," John bit his lip. "Uhh... right." He didn't want to part, but he in no way wanted to be pushy.   
Sherlock didn't either, or at least, he didn't look it.  
"No more lies, Sherlock. Do you truly want me to go?"   
"No," Sherlock responded. "But it's what's best. I shouldn't-" he paused. "Take advantage of you in this situation."   
"That's not- Sherlock-"  
"You need rest."  
"Oh, come off it." John was slightly annoyed, but quickly resumed his previous softness of tone. "I'm not going to sleep tonight, and you know that. Don't blow me off like this."  
"... what do you want, then."   
"I know what I want, you know what I want, and you probably knew it before I even considered it."  
Huffed breathing. Shuffled feet. "You're not wrong. And I don't decline what you're about to offer." Of course, John thought. "I'm not accustomed to intimacy, John. You've been privy to it from all sorts of girlfriends-"   
"And a boyfriend or two," John interjected. It was most definitely a spur of the moment reaction, but it felt good to say that. Despite the tense situation, he felt open to be his whole self.  
Sherlock paused, but only for a second. "My point is, this is going to be slow."  
John laughed. "As if it hasn't been already?"  
"True," Sherlock said, the edge of his mouth slightly curling into a smile.  
"So, what was my offer?"  
"Hmm? Oh-" Sherlock's face slowly reddened. "Sleeping...? In beds?" He scratched the back of his neck. "T...oge...ther."   
John gave a genuine laugh. "Oh my God. You're adorable."   
"Not quite sure how to respond to that."  
"You don't have to, I'll just- cache that memory somewhere."  
"Mm. Uhh, John?"  
"Hm?"  
"Did I get it right?"  
"You did. You always get it right."  
"I just thought- perhaps I was projecting again."  
For that little moment, John saw Sherlock's version of those seven years. He HAD seen the way he acted, he HAD thought John had feelings for him, but he always thought it was because that was what he wanted to see. He thought emotions had clouded his judgement, and then he would doubt himself. Those were the seven years for Sherlock. Hell for him just as much as it was for John.  
"Shall we?"   
"I think so." The hallway had never felt so long. John had been in Sherlock's room a few times, but it was definitely not just another room in the flat to frequent. John felt his stomach clench as they drew closer. He closed his eyes for a brief second, and felt the air push out from the door.   
John reached out to hold Sherlock's hand, who somewhat pulled away, as if instinctively, but slowly relaxed. He interlaced his fingers with John's, somewhat surprising him. They stood, parallel from the bed, unmoving. "You don't have to do this, you know," John said softly, turning to look at Sherlock. Sherlock swallowed loudly.  
"No. I- I'll- I'm going to try."  
John couldn't help but absolutely love the stuttering mess Sherlock had become, though it was slightly unnerving. Sherlock stepped towards the bed, still attached to John Watson. They slowly climbed into the frame, treading far too carefully, until they were on opposing sides of the bed. They had made sure never to let go in the movement, and their fingers remained laced. Nicely, comfortably laced.  
\--  
The both of them wanted more, whether it be John's desperate need to be loved, or Sherlock's instint to move closer.   
"Hey, John?"  
"Yeah?"  
"Could I- uhh- wrap my arms around you?"  
"What, d'you wanna spoon me?"   
"..."  
"Do you?"  
"I believe so..."  
"Do you not know what spooning is?"  
"Mm."  
John had to take into account how much Sherlock had missed out on in terms of intimacy. It was adorable, but also... sad. Somewhat liberating. John cursed himself for being nearly giddy at the idea of being Sherlock's first intimacy.   
"Here, I'll show you. Is that alright?"  
"Yeah, yeah," Sherlock said with a bit too much enthusiasm.  
"Here I-uhh-" John gave a breathy laugh. "Move on your side, closest to me." Sherlock complied. John shifted his position as well. Sherlock didn't need guidance after that point. He pulled John closer, his breath on John's neck. John savored every shiver going through his body.   
"John, could we- uhh- switch positions?"  
"Oh, uh, sure." John didn't mind being the little spoon, but he could understand if Sherlock wasn't comfortable assuming the position of the big spoon. John flipped his position and wrestled his left arm under Sherlock's body. He rested his right arm seemlessly around Sherlock's torso. God, this was nice. "You good?"  
"Mhm."  
John grinned, knowing Sherlock couldn't see. He thought about nustling him closer, but held himself back. This was good. Enough. Could be better. No, this was what they were both comfortable with. John was hit with a sudden and intense feeling of guilt. He tried to push it away, but the longer he stayed, the more he felt that feeling. He pulled away suddenly, and sat at the edge of the bed. Putting his face in his palms.  
\--  
"Are you alright?" Sherlock looked back. He had felt John's presence leave immediately. He didn't respond. Sherlock wanted to let him know that it was okay, regardless of what it was. Sherlock sat up, turning on the bedside lamp. John gave a huge sigh.  
"It's- it's Mary, Sherlock." John sighed, frustrated. "She-" He turned around, facing Sherlock. "I dunno, she just-"   
Sherlock tried to conceal his surprise. "Do you miss her?"  
"No- I mean- well, that's an awful thing to- I don't. But, I- she left me with her child, her memory, and it's burned into my Goddamn skull." He said the last words with force. "How am I supposed to- how am I allowed to feel anything right now when she-"   
"John, she shot me."  
"And you defended her."  
"I'm sorry for that, John."  
"You're sorry? You- you played buddy-buddy this whole time, said she was better at the cases than-" He paused, realizing he had revealed a sore spot. "Point is, you acted like she was forgiven."  
"She knew she wasn't, but she played along."  
"Oh, great." John did his sarcastic laugh, again. "So, I was left out again. Kept in the dark."  
"You weren't, John. You're smart." John laughed. "You knew."  
"What was the point then?"  
Sherlock only stared at John. John groaned.   
"GOD, Sherlock! I can't do this. I can't I just. Can't." Sherlock's face saddened.  
"I understand."  
John grabbed Sherlock's hand fiercly. Sherlock's breathing hitched. "I don't want this to go- I don't want you to go-" John let go of Sherlock's hand. "Sherlock, I'm not going to, but-"  
John put his head down. Sherlock inched his hand towards the nape of John's neck, but decided against resting it there.   
"You don't have to say anything, not if you don't want to," Sherlock said softly. Sherlock wanted to pull his head closer, but decided against it.   
"I-I love you, Sherlock." The sentence took a lot of effort, it would take time to get accustomed to it. Well, if he even would want to get accustomed to it. "But there's no way this is going to be that easy."  
"What's not going to be... that easy?"  
"This," John sighed. "It-" He paused and brought his tongue up against his upper teeth. "It won't- work like that."   
"Why not?" Sherlock asked reactively.  
"Took us this long to get here, and we can't forget what happened doing those years-"  
"I'm not forgetting, I'm... remembering."  
"Look there was a lot, and I wanted you for that long, but..." John ran his hand through his hair.   
"Can we try?" It was a quiet question, and Sherlock wished it had a better delivery.   
John's face was sad. "Yes. Yes we can. I'm sorry that- I'm sorry this-"  
Sherlock put his hand on John's shoulder, not waiting to think. "It's only human." They looked at each other's faces for an extended amount of time, and Sherlock was very much aware of it. He felt his own fingers move to wrap around the back of John's neck, and the slight pull forward. Their lips lingered, John's eyes forced shut. Sherlock could hear his own breathing. Oh God. Should he say something? Could he place his lips on John's, simple as that? He moved his face closer, and their noses touched. Nice, this was... nice. John had a nice nose. It was round and fit in the most perfect of ways. God, if only Mycroft saw him now. If only anyone saw him now. He'd become a soppy love mess, and was loving every second of it.   
John laughed. "No kiss then?"  
"Oh," Sherlock moved his head and pecked John's cheek. "Good?"  
"Bit good, yeah," John smiled and hugged Sherlock by the waist. "You reckon we'll ever lay down again?"  
"Oh, that. Yeah." A few moments passed.   
"We moving?"  
"I love this," Sherlock draped his arms on John's shoulders. He pressed his forehead against John's and stared into his eyes. "What if I don't want to move?"   
John raised an eyebrow. "How long could we possibly stay here? You probably have the numbers on that, even."  
"Numbers don't matter. Statistics, all the rubbish. When I look at you John, I think I could defy the odds a little bit."  
John chuckled and looked down. "So... what now?"  
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Domestic bliss, I suppose."  
"What does that entail?"  
"Waking in the same bed, hand holding... dinner."  
"How are you saying this all with a straight face?"  
"Is it not good?"  
"No," Sherlock felt John gently shaking his head, back and forth. "God no. It's perfect."  
Sherlock grinned stupidly.   
"So, what do you want?"  
John only took a moment. "I want to raise Rosie. Here, in 221b. Together." He moved his head back and looked at Sherlock. "What do you think?"  
Sherlock's eye's widened. He stammered. "I-I th-ink..." he took a breath. "I'd love that."  
John smiled, open-mouthed, and hugged Sherlock. They sat for a few seconds, embracing. John sat back. "Anything else? Before sleep, probably."   
"Mm. Sleep'd be good." Sherlock sat for a moment, knowing what to say, but not how to say it, or if he should say it at all. He took a breath.  
"What do we call this? Us?"  
"Oh. OH." John moved his mouth to one corner. "I don't- I dunno. Boyfriends? It sounds so regular- so... ordinary."   
"I want nothing more than to be ordinary, with you, John."   
"Okay. Boyfriends. Sherlock Holmes, my boy..friend. God, it's just so- strange."  
"You sure it's alright?"  
"Yes. Of course yes, but, it will take time."  
"Waiting seems like something I've become somewhat of an expert at. I can hardly imagine this will be that difficult."   
John nodded. He paused for a moment. "Sleep?"  
"Ahh, yes. Let's."  
\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good? A bit not good? Honestly it's kind of painful to reread these because ugh I still had hope then but there is a tail end of this story. If anyone would like to read it, just leave a comment. Kudos are nice too. Okay, thank you. Have a nice day.


	3. Happy Like This

They lay in bed for a few minutes, arms around eachother. Another thing to get used to, but John couldn't help but enjoy it, because he knew it would become a regular thing. Well, he hoped it would. Some things are always unforseen. John ran his palm slowly down Sherlock's side, Sherlock shivering at his touch. John was filled with ecstasy at the reaction. He gripped his arm around his waist and pulled him in closer. Was this good? He couldn't open his mouth to ask Sherlock. He'd hate if he was making him uncomfortable and didn't even know it. Sherlock nustled his head into John's chest, and that was enough clarification for him. John smiled, and let his eyelids fall. Every now and then, they would open, to make sure he wasn't imaging his situation. Around the time of 2:45, his breathing had slowed, and he was truly comfortable. Sherlock noted all of this, and he debated leaving the bed. It was the better choice for the pair, but he couldn't bare the thought of John waking up alone. So he stayed, his eyes watering. In John's unconscious, steady embrace.   
\--  
"I know what the two of you could become."  
Light. Hmm. Oh. Oh my God. Sherl-   
"Morning."   
Sherlock was looking over him, sipping tea. John tried to hide his disappointment at the fact that he wasn't in bed with him. Well-was he in the bed? Did John make that up? It could make sense that he had been moved to Sherlock's bed- well, it really couldn't, but there was no reason that it had to mean they slept together immediately. But those memories felt so real-  
"How do you feel?" Sherlock said flatly.  
"Fine. Uhh. Yeah." John purposefully tried to avoid the topic of them being together, to save from potential embarrassment.   
They sat in silence. Sherlock sipped his tea, until he gave a low chuckle. John looked up at him, stunned. He was practically giggling, covering his mouth.   
"What?" John asked, half a smile plastered on his face.   
"I thought this would be how you'd act." Sherlock took another sip, looking at John. "You're purposefully avoiding last night."   
"Last night?" Could that mean-  
"Maybe I'd better not tell you." Sherlock was getting too much enjoyment out of this.   
John sighed, shaking his head. "Sherlock."  
"'D you want some tea? Mrs. Hudson's got a cup on down stairs."  
"Sher-"  
"Although I do imagine it might remind you of something that happened last night. After all, we were drinking tea, just like this." Sherlock held out the cup to show John.   
John bit his lip, a bit irritated now. "You done? You gonna tell me about last night now?"   
"Oh come on, just let me have a bit more fun."   
"How?"   
"Tea."   
"Tell me Sherlock or I'll punch the lights out of you."   
"Alright," Sherlock sat at the bed, setting the tea down on the floor. It was completely silent as he cupped John's face in his hands and pushed his lips into his own. Sherlock had no idea how to kiss, as if that even mattered. John's eyes were wide open, but he let them close after a few seconds. He opened his mouth slightly and bit lightly on Sherlock's lower lip. He did so without thinking, and when he realized he had done it, he was pleased that Sherlock did not pull away. John lightly grabbed onto Sherlock's neck and pulled him back with him, until Sherlock's waist made contact with John's under the sheets. Sherlock put both of his palms next to John's shoulders and pulled away. "Morning, love." He smiled so wide, John saw crinkles.   
\--  
"Sherlock... do you..."  
The answer was quick. "Yes."  
"You haven't even heard what I'm about to ask."  
"Are you changing your mind?"   
"Maybe.... later. You're probably right, we should take this slow. It's not like that's anything new."   
Sherlock let his expression slowly fall and moved to sit next to John on the bed.   
"Alright."  
"I know you're disappointed. But... thank you."   
"It's fine. You're... fine, John."   
Sherlock hesitantly laid his head down, in the spot next to John.   
"Is it fine, and feel free to decline, if I rest my head on your shoulder?"  
"'Course it is."  
Sherlock did as he was given permission to, and readjusted his position. A few seconds passed.  
"I love you."  
John smiled and kissed Sherlock's hair. "You have no idea how good it feels to hear that. I love you too."   
Time passed. The pair let their minds wander, occasionally crossing paths in their travels, unknowingly. They both sat, wandering, until-  
"What do we tell the others? Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, everyone?" John asked.   
"I can't imagine it'll be that difficult for them to swallow, they've thought this was the case for years," Sherlock said plainly, and John laughed.   
"Still," John started. "It's such a transition."  
"John, I'm still concerned for your safety. Maybe it should remain a secret, just so you aren't hurt."  
"People know I'm your weakness regardless, Sherlock. I've already been targeted to get your attention."  
"'People' can do much worse. Information... this information, it will be used. I don't want to find out how."  
"How long, then? How long, do you propose, we keep this a secret? I'm never going to be safe, but that's what I choose."   
"It's still... difficult to see you hurt. For me. Forgive me if I'm hesistant to put you in the line of danger."   
"Of course, Sherlock. Of course. But we shouldn't hide forever. I don't care what people will think, and I accept that I might be in danger." John's voice slightly faltered. "Am. Regardless, I'm willing to risk it."  
"I'm not." Sherlock's lip quivered, and he kissed John's forehead. "I want to do that. Over and over again, and I never want to stop. But I can't if you're- gone." John's eyes softened.   
"I love you, you know that?" John moved his head to see Sherlock's face, and saw his eyes tearing up. "Oh- oh no- Sherlock-" John turned and wrapped his arms around Sherlock, stroking his hair slightly. Sherlock breathed in, and then began to sob, purposefully muffling himself in John's shoulder. John held his counterpart tighlty, rocking softly back and forth.   
"It's okay, it's okay, I'm here, you have me now..." John kissed Sherlock's hair softly. A few moments later, Sherlock moved back.   
"It was all so real- when you were dying-" Sherlock choked. "I'm so, so scared of that happening again..."  
"I'm here. I'm here. I love you..." John squeezed Sherlock again. "Why don't we just stay like this? Forget the rest of the world for now, can't we just be happy like this? We'll figure it out later."   
Sherlock pulled back, looked at John with those sad, sad eyes, and leaned in to kiss him, so softly, so slowly. "I'm happy like this," he said, after breaking away, touching his forehead to John's.  
"Me too, Sherlock."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it. Hope y'all enjoyed, or at least took out the sourness left in your mouth from the finale.

**Author's Note:**

> There is more to the story, leave me a comment if you would like me to put it up. Kudos are also appreciated.


End file.
